Daisy and I set off on the journey to back to a time when we were young and carefree.

Where once it might have been on a bicycle built for two nowadays with our advancing age it was more your modern sedan complete with air conditioning. How did we survive we joked as we recalled days when the only air con was how low your windows were wound down?

Daisy and I had met in the country town of Breezyfreezy back in the early 70s. We were both teachers sent to the school in a place we thought of at the time as the back of nowhere.

But it proved to be the making of us. Breezyfreezy did not have a lot to boast about regarding facilities, but it had character and personality, and we encountered both on our first day.

The Principal welcomed us to the school glad we had all secured accommodation at least for that first week. During the term, once teachers got to know each other there was a series of house shuffles as one moved in with the other.

Daisy taught in the Home Economics department, she was the cooking and sewing teacher. I was in the English History department.

I saw her across the staff room that first day looking like me, all eager beaver and nervous as could be.

We introduced ourselves at the recess break, and she said she’d found a place with an old spinster lady and wasn’t how long she’d be able to stand it living there.

Over the next week, we chatted more and more, and by week two she’d moved into the spare room at my place.

Breezyfreezy was a very social place. People made their own fun. TV reception was poor with only the national channel available. Weekend dances were very common and great places to meet the locals and dance the night away usually with a loved one or one you hoped might love you.

The town hadn’t changed much when we drove in. The shops had changed names, the awnings gone from some, where once had stood a bank it was now a small grocery shop.

We walked up the main street wondering if we might see anyone we remembered or who might remember us.

There was one lady, who looked at Daisy and me and straight away said our names. She ushered us into a neighbouring shop to meet another woman who thirty years before we had both taught.

We were invited to the first ladies home for dinner and discovered she’d invited a bunch of people we had taught all those years ago.

It was a most satisfactory journey, sentimental in so many ways like discovering the scratchings I had made on the rock on the town lookout was still there.

Holding hands Daisy and I looked down on the town, where everything for us had started and where today we once again felt the buzz we had back then when we knew we were to stay together forever.

A most endearing tale, and whether fact or fiction (your writing makes it sound so very real 🙂 ) it shares the delight of a treasured memory still cherished in the heart of the present moment. Thank you.

May I ask about the title of your Blog? Morpethroad – where did the name come from? Is it a related family name? I am always curious…there is a town in the UK, a famous one in its heyday, called Morpeth – a historic market town in the north-east of England, lying on the River Wansbeck. Nearby villages include Mitford and Pegswood. Is there a connection?

Thank you again for the Sunday evening read. Hoping you’ll enjoy a wonderful week.

I like this story, a now a now and then story. Also cyclical of where Daisy and her husband to be began and where they are now. I imagine seeing old faces and remembering memories past was an entertaining evening as well.